Tell Me (Is This Fair?)
by pinkbelle
Summary: Collection of hurt!Sam prompts, set anytime and anywhere. PROMPTS OPEN UNTIL AUGUST 2ND. "Dean frowned, standing up and looking around. While he had been making his room his own, hadn't Sam been doing the same? What exactly did Sam have to show that it was his room?"
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone! So, as I said to one reviewer of my story 'At Least You Got Your Eyes Closed', I wanted to do a prompt-based story this summer after reading a few, especially Center of the Galaxy's. Plus, I have a huge thing about hurt Sam, so there's that too, and that is the theme on which prompts will need to be based – a scenario in which Sam is hurt or sick, set anytime, any where.

So, here we are: y'all know how this works, leave a prompt in the reviews and I'll write it up into a one-shot chapter here! I only have a couple of rules/guidelines:

**I** **don't do slash** - gen only, please and thank you. Sorry, I just don't feel comfortable writing it. Ditto explicit scenes – I take no real issue with language, but really graphic sex/violence/gore is a no-go I'm afraid. De-aged is also not something I particularly enjoy doing (and consequently or conveniently suck at), so please keep this in mind.

However, having said that, if it's canon, I have no problem writing that, so that's fine

Other than that, the rest is up to you, but Sam must be hurt in the story, and please be specific (i.e. broken arm or drowning etc).

I'm not going to promise daily updates because I find that may be a tad unrealistic of a goal to set myself, I've got procrastinating down to a fine art, but every two or three days is probably reasonable to guess.

I figured I'd start it off with a little prompt of my own (and by that I mean a one-shot I had floating around my head), and then after that it's your choice! Can't wait to read your prompts – as of this moment, I'm going to accept prompts/requests open from **now (July 2****nd****)** until **July 20****th**. I may extend this, depending on how things go, but because this is my first time doing anything like this I don't want to overwhelm myself. Also, there are going to be periods of time when I can't write (I'm going on vacation from the 10th to the 16th but will try and figure something out for this), but we'll see how it goes! Happy prompting!

(P.S - I really suck at coming up with titles, so yes, these are Justin Timberlake lyrics...I'm a little ashamed, but not enough to change it)

Okay, this is just a short one-shot to get it started, set after 'Two Minutes to Midnight' in season five, but we're pretending Dean hasn't agreed to the plan for Sam to jump into the cage yet.

* * *

_"Did you know about this? _

_About Sam's genius plan to cram the devil down his throat?"_

* * *

Sam winced as he reached into his pocket, stood on the sidewalk and feeling the dread rising in his heart as he looked at the state of the car in front of him. Dean was going to kill him. Holding his right arm tightly against his chest, he clumsily dialled his big brother's number before lifting the phone to his ear, smearing the blood coming out of a cut above one of his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean answered after a couple of rings. "Where are you? I thought you were going straight back to the motel, but I beat you back here."

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, bracing himself for the reaction he was going to get with the divulging of the news he had to break to his brother. "I kinda ran into a slight problem on the way back."

Sam could almost picture the frown that would have crossed Dean's face as soon as he said that.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, at which Sam sighed.

"Okay, don't freak out," he began, "it's not as bad as it sounds –"

"You crashed my car, didn't you!" Dean interrupted in an accusatory tone, cursing on the other end of the line. "Dammit, Sam, what did you do?"

Sam winced again as he inadvertently jostled his arm but shifting his weight from one foot to the other before answering. However, before he got the chance Dean interpreted his silence in the way only a caring older sibling or a parent could.

"You're hurt," Dean stated, his tone softer this time, and immediately Sam could hear the sound of items being picked up and a door being shut. "Where are you?"

"Jefferson, across from the park," Sam mumbled, beginning to feel light-headed and he thought to himself that the intelligent thing to do before calling Dean would've been to stop the blood flow coming from his forehead.

"Alright, don't move, you got it? Just sit down and wait for me," Dean said before hanging up, and Sam soon began to feel the spread of relief that came with knowing Dean would take care of everything, just as he always had. Sam sat down and leant against the passenger door of the Impala, holding his arm steady, and closed his eyes and waited for Dean.

...

Five minutes after hanging up with Sam Dean was finally on Jefferson and, sure enough, saw the Impala parked beside the curb. Surveying the damage from where he was on the opposite side of the street, Dean could see the headlight on the driver's side was smashed, with the hood on the same side a little crumpled. While these were both easy fixes, however, it made the unease Dean was feeling grow as he knew it would have been the side Sam was sat on, and his little brother was nowhere to be seen.

"Sam?" he called as he crossed the street, coming up around the front of the car. Just as he was about to shout his brother's name again, though, he got to the passenger side by the curb and saw Sam leaning back against the door.

"Sammy," Dean said in a loud voice, his heart thumping when he saw Sam's eyes were closed. "Sammy, c'mon man, open your eyes."

Kneeling next to his little brother, Dean let out of a sigh of relief when he felt Sam's pulse thrumming against his fingers, albeit a little slow. Moving his fingers from Sam's neck to the cut above his left eye, he decided it wouldn't need stitches but some butterfly bandages would work.

"Alright, Sammy," Dean murmured, taking in the way Sam was holding his right arm protectively against his chest and guessed it to be broken. "I could do the forehead thing, but a broken bone means a trip to the ER, dude."

Sam's eyes opened slowly as he registered Dean's voice, but before he could say anything Dean decided to take advantage of the could-be temporary consciousness and get Sam into the car.

"Alright, Sam." Grasping Sam's good arm, he pulled him up with some difficulty due to the non-existent help his brother was giving, but eventually got him standing on his feet, from which he was then manoeuvred into the passenger seat after Dean got the door open while keeping Sam's arm across his shoulders. He then moved around to the driver's side and got in, focusing from that moment on driving to the closest emergency room while trying to keep Sam awake.

After getting to the hospital and filling in all of the paperwork with the fake insurance details they were using at the moment, the two were relegated to the waiting room until a doctor was available to see Sam and, as he wasn't in life-threatening danger, they were warned it could be a while. Dean helped Sam into a chair and then sat in the one next to him, unsurprised when he felt his little brother's head fall onto his shoulder. Dean lifted up a hand and carded it through Sam's hair, some of it sticky with blood from the cut which had had a piece of gauze taped to it until it was properly dealt with.

"M'sorry," Sam mumbled, his voice almost incoherent through the fabric of Dean's shirt. "Didn't mean to."

Dean sighed. "It's fine, Sam, let's just get your arm set and then I'll kick your ass later for whatever you ran into to dent my car like that."

Dean felt Sam shake his head against his neck and the muttered disagreement with the statement he'd made.

"Didn't hit anything," Sam muttered, "hit me. Ran into me, didn't slow down."

This made Dean stop for a minute, his fingers still in Sam's hair. Moving them down to lift Sam's head off of his shoulder, he looked into his little brother's bleary eyes.

"Wait, what?" he asked sharply, "someone ran into you? Didn't they stop when they hit you?"

"No," Sam said quietly, rubbing the hand of his good arm across his eyes and making Dean's heart twinge in the way that it made him look like 7-year old Sam again when he was tired but waiting up for Dean to go to bed too before he went to sleep.

Trying to keep the anger he felt building inside of him at the thought of someone just driving off after hitting Sam while he was driving, Dean sat back and Sam rested his head on his shoulder again, too tired to sit up straight.

Turning to look at his now-sleeping brother, Dean couldn't help but smile. Only for Sam would he sit there with a grown man resting on his shoulder. Making a mental note to call Bobby and ask if they could stop by to fix the car and let Sam spend a few days reacquainting himself with the difficulties of a broken arm, Dean couldn't help but think about how peaceful Sam looked while he was asleep. Although he knew that he'd been having nightmares courtesy of Lucifer, in the moments straight after he fell asleep he seemed completely at ease, and the thought of letting his brother throw himself into the pit to stop Lucifer and Michael made him want to cry, especially in moments such as these when Sam looked so much like he had at 12 – innocent, naïve and feeling completely safe because Dean was nearby.

Blinking furiously, Dean forced himself to pull it together. Sam had said that if they didn't all agree then he wouldn't do it, but Dean knew Sam – there was no way after being the one to break the final seal that he wasn't going to do whatever he could to stop the fight between Michael and Lucifer from killing millions of people, and Dean knew that he would have to accept that he was going to say goodbye to his brother soon. The thought of that made him want to tear his heart out, letting the boy he had spent his entire life protecting kill himself for the sake of people who would never know what he did, and leave Dean stuck behind struggling to figure out how to go on in a world where there was no Sam Winchester.

Before Dean could go any further in a chain of thought that made him want to lock Sam in the panic room and never let him out, Sam's name was called by a doctor and soon he was guiding his dazed brother through the waiting room to the ER, focusing on protecting him in the now and not worrying about what might happen in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

_Oh my goodness, thank you all so much for the prompts you've been submitting! I'm so glad you're all so interested in this story! I LOVE the prompts you've submitted and can't wait to do each and every one of them! While I'm on the subject of prompt submissions, I need to say something that I forgot to say in the last post –_

_**One only prompt per person, please!**__ I want to give everyone a chance to submit and have their prompt done, so please only submit one. If you give me a couple of ideas in one review and don't name a preference then I'll pick the one I'd prefer to do, and if you do submit a second prompt I'm only going to do the first. _

_Other than that, thank you all for the wonderful feedback, and here's the first prompt! Given by a guest (Aussie), the prompt was: Sam is injured by an intruder who broke into the hotel. I decided to do this where Sam is 13, hope you enjoy!_

* * *

_Throw my in the landfill,_

_don't think about the consequences._

_Throw my in the dark pit,_

_don't think about the choices that you've made._

_- Daughter, Landfill_

* * *

Sam sighed as he tossed to TV remote up onto the bed from his place sitting on the floor, leaning against the foot of it. He had been abandoned yet again in another motel in another small town in another state while his father and Dean were off hunting another creature on a hunt he hadn't been allowed to go on because he was "too young", in his dad's words.

"Dean was thirteen when he went on his first hunt," Sam muttered to himself under his breath, standing up and walking over to the bathroom to get a glass of water. "It's not fair. He always gets to do stuff I can't."

Filling one of the cheap glasses that had been provided, Sam shut the water off and turned around, leaning back against the counter as he sulked. Taking a few sips of the water, he eventually sighed and released there was no point acting like this all night when there was nothing he could do about it.

Walking back out into the main room, Sam went over to the window and examined the salt lines across the ledge, noting they were still in tact. He wouldn't admit to anyone but from the moment Dean and his dad left to the moment they walked back through the door Sam was scared. He was scared of something getting them, or something finding their way in to get him, and while John thought Sam was being difficult by asking him to do all of the usual protective measures it was only because the young boy trusted his dad to do it right and keep him safe whereas he thought he might forget something or do something wrong.

_Click_.

Sam jumped where he was standing, turning around to face the front door. The glass of water shook in his hand, the liquid spilling over the rim and dripping onto the grey shag carpeting that looked like it had been put down in the 60's. The metallic sound that Sam recognised as a lock-pick at work continued to come from the door, and Sam could feel his heart pounding faster and faster in his chest as his panicking mind tried to come up with a plan.

_Monsters don't pick locks_, he thought to himself as he frantically turned around the room, looking for something to protect himself with, the glass finally slipping to the ground, thankfully not smashing and alerting the intruder to his presence, although he suspected there was a good chance they knew he was in there anyway. _Monsters don't pick locks – humans do._

Unsure whether this was something to be glad about or if it was even worse, Sam finally remembered the shotgun his dad had left for him under one of the beds and threw himself onto his knees beside it, fingers reaching for the handle. Just as he had it in his grasp and was pulling it out from the dusty space, however, the door opened.

Sam turned from his knees to sit back, using his hands as a means of pushing himself further and further away from the man who had broken in. Tall and muscular, he was wearing a black shirt and jeans and Sam could see the hilt of a knife pocking out from the waistband. Before Sam realised it, he had pinned himself into the corner between the back wall and one of the beds, and the man approaching him with a cold look on his face pulled out the knife.

"Where is it?" he growled, the silver blade flashing in the light from the moon coming in through the door he hadn't closed. Normally this would bode well for someone in Sam's situation, but he knew for a fact that there was no one else staying in the motel that night as the owner had told them so when they had checked in. No one would be coming to his rescue, and the people who normally did were in the middle of the forest.

"W-where is w-what?" Sam choked out, his throat seeming to tighten with every forward step the man made.

"YOU KNOW WHAT!" he roared in response, reaching Sam and lifting him to his feet as he pushed him against the wall, holding the knife to his throat just enough that the boy could feel the sharp edge. Screwing his eyes shut, Sam tried to rapidly go through everything his father had ever told him about getting out of threatening situations, but it was as though the fear radiating through him had wiped his mind of anything that might help.

Lifting up his arms Sam tried to push the knife wielding one of the man away from his body, but the amount in which the other man's strength outmatched the thirteen year-old was almost comical. Sam sound found himself being thrown over one bed to the space between it and the other one, where he once again was trapped to the man's advantage.

"I'm going to ask you nicely one more time," the man hissed, bringing the knife up to a position where he could plunge it down. "Where. Is. My. Money."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Sam gasped out, struggling against the hold on him. "Please, just _let me go_!"

With the 20/20 vision of hindsight Sam could see that struggling against the man with a knife was a bad idea, but it wasn't until said knife was being plunged into his side that he realised this. He faintly heard a yell, which he guessed was himself, as the man withdrew his weapon and began clawing at pieces of furniture and tearing the room apart in his search.

"He said it would be hear," he growled in a low voice, "he said it would be in room 214 at this mot-"

Suddenly the man cut off midsentence and darted just outside of the door to look at the sign hanging from the main entrance. Reading it, his face paled.

"Shit," he whispered, what he had just done suddenly dawning on him. "_Shit_." Looking back at Sam, whose head could be seen behind the bed closest to the door, the man gave in to his flight instinct instead of doing what he knew would be the right thing to do and to help the barely teenage kid he had just wrongly stabbed. However, soon Sam found himself alone, bleeding, and fighting against the growing pull of unconsciousness.

"Dean," he mumbled, "Dad." He coughed, eyes screwing shut at the burning pain radiating from his side. No one was there to help him, and there was no way he could help himself. His head was spinning from having been pushed around so much, and with the amount of blood coming from the wound he could guess that it had gone through the muscle.

His brain scrambled to think of something that would help him in any way, but finally he resigned himself to his fate with the last bit of clarity he felt in his mind before the fog stemming from the blood loss completely took over.

With his eyes slipping closed, he could have sworn that as the darkness consumed him he heard his name being called and felt hands on him, but instead of trying to stay awake to figure it out he gave in, and all went quiet.

...

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Sam frowned at the sound coming from somewhere near his head, hearing it and sounds surrounding it grow louder and louder. There was a soft _whoosh_-ing sound, the beep, and now that he focused on it he could hear someone breathing, too. _Really_ close to his face. Moving his hands, he felt the softness of what he knew were sheets and blankets, way too soft to be anything in a motel, and finally the curiosity to know where he was won out over the appealing option of going back to sleep.

Prying his eyes open, something strangely difficult in that moment, Sam squinted when he was met with the bright white lighting and surrounding of the room he was in, which he immediately named as a hospital room. The white walls and floors were a give-away, and that was before he saw the IVs he knew he was attached to and by the sounds of it a heart monitor too.

Before he could think of what could have happened to land himself in a hospital, though, turning his head he was met with a pair of red-rimmed green eyes. Dean was sat on a chair beside Sam's bed and Sam knew that it had been his brother's breathing he had heard. As embarrassed as he was to admit it, the sound and rhythm calmed him down as it always had, and he guessed that made it easier for him to pick out.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said in a rough voice, "welcome back kiddo."

Sam frowned, and then was suddenly assaulted with the memory of what had happened.

Dean saw the recognition in his little brother's face and nodded. "We don't know who it was, some junked-up asshole, but we figure we got there a couple of minutes after he left. You-" Dean's voice caught, and he looked at the floor and cleared his throat before returning his gaze to his brother. "You were bleeding pretty bad, Sammy."

Sam's eyes widened at the catch in his brother's throat, understanding in that moment how close it had been. Before either brother could say anything else, though, John walked into the room holding two cups of coffee, putting them down on the table by the door quickly as soon as he saw that Sam's eye were open. A rare smile crinkled the eyes of the older hunter, and he moved around to the side of the bed that Dean was sitting by, leaning down and placing a hand on Sam's head, pushing his floppy hair back.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, barely disguised relief shining through his eyes.

Sam smiled back weakly. "Hey, dad." He looked around his room before turning to his father and offering an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

John frowned, as did Dean who leaned back from his position of resting on his elbows which were on the edge of his brother's bed.

"For what, Sam?" John enquired, looking apprehensive.

Sam raised a hand that wasn't attached to an IV, gesturing at the machines. "For this. I should've been able to fight them off, they weren't…special. They were just a person." He looked down and began pulling at threads in the blanket covering his sheets, feeling shame run through him at his incapability to fight of a simple human being. He heard John sigh, and braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming his way.

"Sam, I don't know if you've realised, but there's not a whole lot of you," John began, making Dean smirk and Sam glare at the observation. John lightly smacked Dean over the head before continuing. "When you've got the advantage of knowing your opponents weakness you have a good chance of coming out on top of a fight, but in hand to hand combat with someone who, from what the police said after watching the security tape from outside the motel, was at least three times to size of you?" He shook his head, as if trying to shake the picture of someone stabbing his son out of his mind. He took another deep breath before going on. "If anyone should be apologising Sammy, it should be me for letting you get into that situation in the first place."

Carding his fingers through his youngest's soft brown hair, he looked into the wide green eyes looking back up at him and made a vow to himself in that moment to never let either of his sons be hurt like this again. Never again would he let himself be sat in the waiting room consoling one of them with the other's life hung in the balance.

Plastering a smile on his face, John pulled out his phone and walked towards the door.

"Dad, what're you going?" Dean asked, looking as his father scrolled through his contacts before selecting one.

John looked at Sam before answering. "Calling Bobby. Seeing if we can't hole up there for a little while. Need to restock, got some things to ask him." John had absolutely no need to restock or ask Bobby Singer for information, but seeing Sam's face light up when he answered would be worth however many days they wasted there.

Casting one last look at his boys, now talking as animatedly as Sam could manage about what they could do at Bobby's, John smiled to himself as he walked out. Before he called Bobby he had one other person to call, but the boys didn't need to know about this one. The phone rang on the other end before someone picked up.

"Caleb? It's John - I need a favour. You still able to get access to footage from security cameras? I need to find someone."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all for the wonderful response you had to the last chapter! Thank you especially to __**Aussie**__, the prompter, for letting me know that you enjoyed it. This next prompt was from __**Jaden Grace **__1, who asked for: "Teen!chester story in which Sam is hurt in a hunt but doesn't say anything so as not to disappoint his father. This costs him on the next hunt when he is hurt once again protecting Dean, John, or both." I wasn't sure how happy I was with this but for some reason I really struggled to write it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! _

_(P.S – I do realize that these have been two fairly similar stories one after another but I'm doing the prompts chronologically, and the next one is set in season six so have no fear!)_

* * *

_I was supposed to do great things,_

_I know the road was long._

_I was embraced to shoot for fame,_

_I had the safety on._

_- Miracle Mile, Cold War Kids_

* * *

"Okay, now remember, these things can be tricky sons of bitches, so we stick _together_." John addressed his sons in a firm voice, looking pointedly at Sam as his did so to which the young teenager resisted rolling his eyes to avoid the lecture that would follow about respect.

The three Winchesters were stood outside of the Impala on a dark and deserted forest road in the middle of the night, waiting to begin their hunt for the wendigo that had been kidnapping hikers and campers of a small tourist town in North Carolina. Sam had been coming along on hunts for the past two years now, since his thirteenth birthday, but after getting separated from his father and brother on the last hunt they went on he was under strict orders to remain by Dean's side at all times.

John turned to face the forested landscape behind them, appraising it, before nodding to his sons to follow his lead as they began to trek through the trees.

John led a few feet ahead with the two boys following together, when Sam tripped over something and realised one of his shoelaces was untied.

"I'll catch up," he said to Dean, ushering his brother ahead, and soon he was a few feet behind him. Standing up after tying the lace, Sam prepared to run to catch up when he had a crashing sound coming from behind him, hearing the _smack_ of flesh on flesh before he felt himself being tackled to the ground by the wendigo they were hunting. His senses soon returned at full capacity, though, in time for him to feel his right side being forced into a rocky surface and the searing pain that followed.

"SAMMY!"

Sam heard the yell come from a few feet away from him and it was followed by what sounded like an entire clip being burned into the wendigo, scaring it enough to release Sam and take off in the direction of the opening to the underground tunnels. Before Sam even had time to contemplate getting himself up Dean's face appeared above him with concern etched into his features.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked as he extended a hand, helping Sam up and keeping a hold on one of his shoulders as he examined his little brother for any visible signs of injury.

Sam shook Dean's supportive hand off, trying not to stumble as he did so, and brushed the dirt off of his shirt.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, subtly running a gentle hand over his side and trying not to flinch as he put pressure on where he knew he was going to have a killer bruise in a couple hours.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam's statement but didn't question it, knowing that if Sam was smart enough to tell him if he'd been badly hurt.

Just as the two were about to continue on again John came bursting into the clearing, looking more than a little pissed off.

"What did I say about sticking together?" he demanded, marching over to where Sam and Dean were stood.

"It jumped Sam," Dean said, not giving Sam time to make whatever comment or remark he was about to in response to John's tone.

John took in what his son had just said and his eyes widened, immediately darting to Sam and doing what Sam knew was a once-over to check for injury just as Dean had done.

"I'm fine, Dad," Sam said quietly, looking up at his father who had moved closer to him and had placed a hand on his shoulder.

John nodded in response, a brief smile crossing his face before he slipped back into hunter mode. "Alright. Well, now that it knows we're here we're not going to be able to do anything tonight, so we'll go back to the motel and come out again tomorrow."

The three than walked back through the forest to the Impala, and Sam took advantage of the silence to mentally check over himself, trying to figure out where the pain that was pulsing through his body was coming from. It seemed a lot to just be coming from a bruised side – didn't it? He must've hit somewhere else against the rocky ground and not noticed, he'd have to check when he showered that night. However, the wave of fatigue that crashed over him halfway through the drive meant that the shower would have to keep until morning, and he went straight to bed along with the other two members of his family.

...

The next morning Sam woke up to Dean leaving to get breakfast and his father just beginning to pull out the guns to clean them. The man's eyes went to his son when Sam sat up, and he nodded to him.

"Go ahead and take a shower, then you can come help me do this."

As soon as Sam turned his body to get out of bed, though, he was assaulted by a wave of pain so intense it took every piece of restraint he had in him not to cry out. Standing very gradually, although not slowly enough to draw notice, Sam padded gently over to his bag on top of the dresser where he pulled out a clean set of clothes, and then took them with him into the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind him, Sam let out a gasping breath, his eyes wide in anguish. Standing up straight, he lifted his shirt over his head, wincing as he felt the muscles in his side pull at the movement, and turned to look at his the right side of his back in the mirror.

The skin covering almost half of his back was black and blue, extensive bruising making it look like he had lay down in a half-full tray of paint for the large area it stained. Sam closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling slowly. For the amount of pain he was feeling he'd guess his right kidney had been bruised too.

"Shit," he breathed, thinking about what he should do. He wasn't stupid – Sam knew that serious bruising could be a sign of internal bleeding and should be looked at, least of all massaged to break the blood up under the skin. Sighing, Sam decided to take his shower and see if the warm water would help his aching back and muscles, and go from there.

After his shower which, unfortunately, had done little in the way of soothing the pain, Sam stepped out of the bathroom and took a deep breath, walking over to his father.

"Dad," he began, but John interrupted him before he went any further.

"I'm proud of you, kiddo," the older man said, not looking up from the shotgun barrel he was cleaning but Sam could hear the rarely vocalised affection in his voice. Sam blinked at his father in response, and before he spoke again John looked up at his youngest son, smiling at the wide-eyed look on his face.

"I know I don't say it a whole lot, and that more often than not I'm telling you not to do something, but after all of the work you've done on this hunt, the research and coming out last night…I'm damn proud of you, Sam."

Sam just stared at his father for a minute, before John cleared his throat and returned his gaze to the gun in his hands.

"Think I interrupted you when you came in, kiddo. Did you want to say something?"

There was only a millisecond of hesitation in Sam's mind before he shook his head and sat down, not wanting the surprisingly vocal praise his father had given to him the turn into disappointment at his inability to defend himself and keep from getting hurt.

_Besides_, Sam thought to himself as he picked up a rag and took the gun his father held out for him, _bruises heal. I'll be fine, after we get back from the hunt tonight I'll take something, and by tomorrow I'll be okay._

...

Later that night the three Winchesters were once again walking quietly along the forest path, each holding a flare gun with John leading and Dean behind Sam. When they reached a clearing in the trees, John stopped and looked around.

"This area is too big," he said, frowning. Appraising both of his sons, he sighed. "We're going to have to split up. Dean, you and Sam-"

However, the end of John's order was cut off by the sound of the wendigo crashing through the forested area to break into the clearing just behind Dean. It stretched a claw out and pushed Dean with such force that he landed on the ground on the other end of the grassed area, and when he didn't get up John felt the anger building up inside of him while Sam ran over to his brother.

Lifting his flare gun John aimed it as quickly as he could at the monster, but before he could get the shot off the weapon was knocked out of his hands as it pushed passed him on its way over to where Dean was.

John watched as it got closer to his eldest son, running behind it but knowing he wouldn't catch up in time, when just as he saw claws raised above Dean he heard a yell come from his youngest as Sam threw himself in their path. The teenage collapsed, unmoving on the ground beside his brother, but before John could re-aim the weapon he had reclaimed from the ground there was a high-pitched shriek being emitted from the other end of the clearing where the wendigo was burning. After it fell to the ground, charred and dead, he saw Dean standing with a cold look on his face and a smoking flare gun. His son met his gaze, but before he could do anything more than nod Dean's attention was diverted to the boy on the ground. John walked over quickly, and was soon kneeling beside the two boys as Dean helped a hazy Sam sit up.

"You boys okay?" John asked, looking both over for visible injury and wincing slightly as the blood coming through Sam's shirt. Dean unbuttoned the top few holes of the button-down Sam was wearing, smiling sympathetically at him.

"That's gonna be stitches, dude, sucks to be you," he said half-jokingly.

"Saved your ass," Sam mumbled, to which Dean shook his head in response.

"Not your job, Sam, it was a stupid thing to do."

"Okay, let's get this back to the motel," John interjected before the boys launched into yet another 'two-way vs. one-way street' argument on watching out for each other. He focused on his youngest for a moment. "Sammy, you good to move?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he answered, although as soon as the word had passed over his lips blood followed within the next second.

"What the hell," John exclaimed as he dropped to his knees, both he and Dean moving forward to keep a fading Sam from falling back. Seeing that his son had a hold on his youngest he removed his hand from Sam's shoulder and pulled a flashlight out of his jacket pocket. At Dean's questioning gaze, John prompted the boy to help him lift up Sam's shirts on his back. Shining the flashlight at the bottom, the hardened hunter did a double-take and couldn't help but wince at the severe and extensive bruising coloring the skin on the right side of Sam's back, wrapping around to the middle of his ribs on his front.

"Damn," John whispered, piecing together Sam's slow movements that day with the scenario in front of him. "This must've happened last night. Why the hell wouldn't he say he was hurt?"

"Because it' Sam," Dean said softly but with a sense of urgency in his tone. "Dad, we've gotta get him to a hospital. Like, now."

The two of them each took one of Sam's arms and wrapped it over their shoulders, easily managing the weight of the small fifteen year-old between them on the short trip to the Impala. After settling Sam in the back seat Dean climbed in next to him, bringing his semi-conscious brother's head back against his shoulder and keeping one hand on the boy's wrist so that he could keep a watch on his pulse.

"You stupid kid," Dean murmured, running his free hand through his little brother's shaggy hair, "what part of I'm your big brother and I look out for you don't you get? Next time you get hurt, if you don't let me know the second after it happens I'm going to kick your ass so hard you'll forget about the first problem." Looking briefly out of the window as his dad made the drive to the emergency room, Dean then turned back to Sam and bent his head so that his mouth was by Sam's ear.

"I'm sorry I wasn't paying attention," he whispered, "I'm sorry I didn't notice. I promise, this won't happen again."

...

TEN YEARS LATER

"Ouch," Sam breathed, surveying the bruises across his shoulder blades. Being thrown into a headstone by an angry spirit never ended well for anyone.

"Sam, you good?" Dean called from the other side of the closed bathroom door.

"Uh, yeah, I'm good," Sam responded, lying through gritted teeth as he tried to massage the blossoming bruise gently to break it up and prevent imminently worse pain later. Finally giving up with the realisation that his arms just did not bend that way, Sam pulled his shirt back on and opened the bathroom door only to be met by Dean holding a box of ibuprofen and a snap to activate heat pack. The items were deposited in Sam's hands before Dean went into the bathroom himself and closed the door behind him.

"You better be laying flat on your back when I get out," he warned through the door, "and if that heat pack isn't under your shoulders I'm not listening to you bitch about the pain tomorrow."

Sam couldn't help but grin at his brother's threatening tone. When he had been fifteen Dean had told him he'd always know when he got hurt – sure enough, his big brother had made good on his promise and because of it, Sam felt safe in knowing that someone would always be watching out for him.


	4. Chapter 4

_I am SO sorry this is so late! I went on vacation with some friends and then had to deal with some family stuff and didn't have time to write, but I do now (finally)! First of all, I'd like to apologize to __**sylvia37 **__– I promise, I AM working on your prompt, which is technically before this one, but I am suffering some serious writer's block. I WILL get it out before this time next week but I thought in the meantime I'd get out the next one since it's been FOREVER. So, this prompt is courtesy of __**Miuda22: "**__Season 8, Sam is injured on a hunt. While he is looking after him back at the bunker, Dean ponders why Sam doesn't have any personal items in his bedroom, when he looks deeper he finds mementos of his childhood in a drawer, photos between the pages of a book, an old phone with an old voice mail message on it and finds a certain amulet hidden inside a secret compartment." I was so excited about this prompt as this is something I'd wanted to write about anyway, so thank you! I will say that I changed part of your prompt a little because I felt I was getting very repetitive but I hope everyone enjoys this chapter, and thank you all for the positive feedback you've been giving me as well as the fabulous prompts! I've decided to extend the deadline for prompts until the __**3**__**rd**__** of August **__because this is such a late update and for people just finding this story, so if you haven't submitted one yet you've still got ten days! _

_P.S – at the time I'm getting around to posting this it is lateeeee and I am SO TIRED but I wanted to get this up tonight soooooo, I'm going to ask forgiveness for any grammatical/spelling errors. I have no beta, so I get the cred for all._

* * *

_Give a little time to me, _

_or burn this out. _

_We'll play hide and seek,_

_ to turn this around _

_-Give Me Love, Ed Sheeran_

* * *

"Alright, take it easy," Dean muttered as Sam hissed at the sting of the disinfectant in his wound. The two had been hunting a poltergeist who had almost managed to impale Sam on an old saw in the garage of the house it was in, but Dean had expelled it from the house before the blade could do anything more than hurt like a bitch and mean a lot of stitches for a fairly deep cut. Thankfully the hunt had been less than an hour from the bunker so, for the first time in what felt like ever, Dean had been able to take care of Sam in a clean and well-stocked environment with everything he needed and without having to worry about his bleeding little brother catching tetanus.

Putting the bottle of antiseptic on Sam's nightstand, Dean gave him a couple of pills to take and a glass of water. Sam tried to shake his head at the medication, never wanting to take it unless absolutely necessary after the Lucifer hallucinations because of the way it made him foggy and out of control, but Dean wasn't accepting that.

"Oh no, little brother, you're taking it whether you do it under your own steam or if I have to force them down your throat," Dean warned, smirking when Sam grumbled and took the pills from his hand and downed them with the water.

Soon enough the pills kicked in and Sam was out, in a deep sleep that Dean knew he'd be in for at least twelve hours. Remaining where he was on Sam's bed, he took the time to look around his brother's room for the first time, having been somewhat occupied when he'd first come earlier that evening.

Even though they'd been living in the bunker for at least two months now, the walls in Sam's room were still completely bare. While Dean had a few things decorating his room, like the vintage Led Zeppelin Vinyl records hanging on his wall, a few of his favorite weapons hung up and a some photos, Sam's room looked entirely uninhabited with the exception of a few shirts on top of the dresser and shoes by the door.

Dean frowned, standing up and looking around. While he had been making his room his own, hadn't Sam been doing the same? A cold thought struck Dean – what exactly did Sam _have_ to show that it was his room? With the hunting lifestyle, and especially with John as a father, the only belongings that came everywhere were essentials – clothing, weapons, first aid kits; anything unnecessary had been left behind in various motel rooms across the country. Everything Sam had ever owned had either been hand-me-downs from Dean, cheap clothes from department stores and thrift stores – did he have anything to show for his life rather than just his existence?

"There's gotta be something," Dean muttered, unbelieving that his brother didn't have a single thing that could be categorized as 'personal', refusing to believe that Sam had nothing that made him _Sam_ in his room, had nothing to show his interests or as a souvenir from something. The thought caused a fissure in Dean's heart, and so with that he moved over to the dresser on the wall opposite of the bed and, with a look back at the sleeping man over his shoulder, he pulled open the first drawer.

Finding nothing but clothes, belts and crap like gum and tissue packs in every drawer in the dresser Dean frowned and moved on to the desk that he had helped Sam move into the room. It had previously been in one of the many rooms filled with books but Sam had taken a liking to it and so Dean had suggested putting it in the empty space by the window, which they had.

Dean opened one of the top drawers slowly, although knowing it would take an explosion of superhero movie proportions to wake Sam up with that medication. However, unlike in the dresser this drawer wasn't empty – instead, it had little pieces of what Dean could only call crap at first glance. However, as he looked closer he felt his heart twinge as he realized what all of the items were. There was a little toy soldier from the set they'd had as kids, one of which was stuck in the ashtray in the Impala; the badge that said 'I'm 10 today!' that Dean had gotten him on one of those fancy birthday cards almost twenty years ago; the lighter Dean had thought he'd lost after the 4th of July fireworks in 1996. He picked up every souvenir and held them in his hand before gently putting them back in the drawer, ignoring the tightening of his throat as he was pulled into each memory. Closing the drawer when he'd finished going through the contents, he then opened the top drawer on the other side of the desk and couldn't help but smile when he saw what was laying in it. A beat-up copy of 'The Tales of Sherlock Holmes' by Arthur Conan Doyle – a book he had gotten for Sam in a specialty book store for his sixteenth birthday. Sam had been so excited when he'd unwrapped the gift, and although it had taken a large chunk of Dean's money for a few months to buy the illustrated copy the smile that had appeared on Sam's face and stayed for days had been worth it. He had no idea that Sam had kept the book all this time, and when he picked up the book and started skimming through it he was surprised to find something in the middle of it.

Wedged into the binding there were four photos stacked on top of each other. Gently removing them from between the pages, Dean thumbed through them and a smile grew on his face when he realized what they were. The photos had come from the box Jenny had given them from the basement of the house in Lawrence. Dean had assumed they'd all been lost along the way, with the exception of the one of him and his mom that was resting against his desk lamp in his room, but here it was clear Sam had saved some. There was a picture of Dean holding a newborn Sam the first time he had seen his baby brother in the hospital, sat in a chair on his dad's lap to make sure he had a grip on the baby; another similar picture in the pile was of Dean in Sam's crib, both boys sound asleep with Dean wrapped around his brother protectively – John had always joked about this when Sam complained about Dean being an over-protective mother hen. The next picture Dean looked at he put back almost immediately after – the smile on Jessica's face, even though he'd only met her once, brought a feeling of sadness for the innocent girl and Sam that he didn't want to face. Picking up the last picture somewhat warily, Dean turned it over and frowned. It was a picture of him and Sam, taken maybe 6 years ago, but he had no idea where it was or who had taken it. They weren't looking at the camera or each other, but with Sam's hair and the bright look in his eyes as well as the relaxed grin on Dean's own face, he knew it had to have been a moment before everything happened – before John died, before Dean's deal, before Lilith and the apocalypse.

Sighing, Dean stuck the pictures back into the book and put it back into the drawer, noticing as he did so another object shoved to the back of it. Reaching his hand in and pulling it out, he lifted up the cellphone that had to be at least 5 years old by looking at the style, a chunkier version of the Blackberry Sam had lost in Wyoming with Samuel Colt.

"Why the hell did he keep this," Dean muttered to himself as he held down the power button. He startled a little when the tone signaling the phone was on started and cursed, looking back at Sam before he left the room with the phone and stood further down the hallway. Leaning against the wall, he thumbed through the menu but found the phone completely wiped of everything – except for one voicemail message.

Dean hesitated for a moment about whether or not to listen to it, aware that Sam was entitled to his own privacy, but the date of the message struck him and with a cold jolt he realized why it seemed important – it was the night in the convent. Without thinking about it for another second Dean called the phone's voicemail and played the message.

_"Message left May 6__th__ 2009 at 19.20 from phone number 913-614-5867."_

Dean vaguely recognized the number as one he'd had at around the same time, and suddenly remembered leaving Sam a message that night. Just as he was about to hang up, not particularly wanting to relive the message Sam had ignored, the recording started.

_"Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back."_

Silence over-took Dean in the moments following the end of the message and he remained frozen in position, back against the wall with the phone to his ear.

He and Sam never talked about that night, it was too painful for either of them to think about – for Sam, it had been him beginning the apocalypse and betraying Dean in the worst way possible by choosing not only someone else but a demon over his own brother; for Dean, it had been the momentary realization that maybe his dad had been right and he _had_ needed to save Sam from more than he had understood and the life-altering hurt and loss of trust in his younger brother who had been the only person he truly felt he could rely on.

Dean had always suspected that Ruby was poisoning Sam's mind with crap like the altered voicemail and he knew that that was probably one of the reasons Sam had ended up where he had been without Dean that night, but the hard evidence on the phone he was now holding in front of his face brought nothing but pure rage towards the angels and demons who had manipulated them into the situation they had ended up in, and the one that had cost Sam his soul and his sanity and had almost cost Dean his brother.

Trying to push down the feelings of anger and sorrow that the message had provoked, knowing there was no good stressing out about it now, Dean began to walk towards Sam's room once more to put the phone back when a sudden thought occurred to him.

Sam had kept the phone with the poisonous message – why? Almost five years later, why would Sam still have not only the phone but the voicemail too? Dean couldn't believe that after everything they had been through over the last few years there was the chance that Sam still might be listening to it, but it was the possibility that had him going into his own room with the phone in hand, placing it on his floor and smashing it with the hammer left on his desk from hanging up more records.

Walking back into Sam's room, Dean walked over to the desk drawer he had left open and closed it. As he moved to leave though, just as he was at the door a voice from behind startled him.

"Find everything you were looking for?" Sam asked quietly, looking at Dean with a mildly exasperated expression when he turned around.

"Um," Dean paused, struggling to come up with an excuse for snooping around but Sam saved him the effort.

"You owe me a new old phone," Sam said jokingly, wincing slightly as he adjusted his position on the bed. The moment of silence that followed was thick, and Sam sighed before he continued.

"I know it wasn't you," he said quietly, looking Dean in the eye as his brother pulled the chair from the desk over to beside the bed. Sitting down, Dean looked at Sam warily. Sam rolled his eyes. "I know you heard it, and I just wanted to say that you don't have to say anything. I kind of figured it out after the speech you gave me in the parking lot outside of the hospital. You weren't being cruel, you were just done and that wasn't what had come across in the message. I just, I guess I kept it as a warning or something? Just a reminder of what some things who seem like they want to help can do."

Dean nodded, relieved that he didn't have to have the conversation with Sam where he reassured him that he wasn't going to do him in in his sleep. He sat still for a moment, meeting Sam's gaze, before he placed his palms on his knees and stood up.

"Yell if you need anything," he said as he walked out.

"There was something I was going to wait to give you, but I figure now's as good a time as any," Sam said before he reached the door, stopping Dean in his tracks once again. Dean turned around and his brother gestured over towards the drawer the book and phone had been in, suggesting he should open it. Walking over to the desk and doing so, Sam then gave further instruction.

"In the back there should be a latch," he said in a quiet voice which an underlying nervous tone which immediately put Dean on edge.

Finding the latch, Dean pulled it and heard the _click_ of something opening. Looking at the side of the open drawer, a part of the wood had fallen open, hanging on a hinge. Bending down, Dean put his fingers into the space and felt some kind of string in it. Getting hold of it he pulled the item out and was sure his heart had gone into a dysrythmic pattern with the sight of the bronze amulet charm on a black leather rope in his hand.

"I was going to wait until the third trial," Sam began, suddenly extremely interested in the blanket covering him, "y'know, just….just in case." When Dean turned back to face him, a look of utter astonishment on his face, he shrugged half-heartedly. "I couldn't leave it there.

Dean – for once in his life – was speechless. He knew it was just a stupid piece of jewelry, one which had honestly been more trouble than it had been worth with the weight of it coming up and hitting him in the mouth when he was being tossed by a vengeful spirit which, to be honest, happened on a far too frequent basis for his liking, but he couldn't stop the happiness spreading through him at the steady weight in his hand and before he thought about it anymore he was lifting it over his head and bringing it to rest on his chest again. He walked over to Sam and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing," he said firmly, "is going to happen with the third trial. You are going to be _fine_ because you're not allowed to be anything else and I'm not going to let you be anything else, capisce? And when this is all over and those sons of bitches are in a permanent time out, we're gonna have to get you some geek-boy posters or something for these walls."

Sam half-smiled as Dean lifted his hand and walked out, semi-closing the door behind him, and knew that everything would be okay. Dean would make sure it was.


	5. Chapter 5

_I'd like to start this with an apology to __**sylvia37**__ who gave this prompt that should have come before the last chapter but I was suffering from some serious writer's block with it – it's finally finished though, so here it is! "Set in Season 6. Sam is feeling guilty about Soulless Sam and particularly guilty about what he did to Bobby and Dean. They're out on a hunt together and Sam gets shot while trying to save one or both of them. It can be by either Bobby or Dean or some other hunter and/or bad guy." I hope you enjoy, and I'll try and get another prompt out within the next couple of days!_

* * *

_ Three guns and one goes off._

_One's empty,_

_One's not quick enough._

_Tessellate, alt-J_

* * *

Sam sat on his bed in Bobby's house, pulling absently at a loose thread in his jeans. He could hear Bobby and Dean talking downstairs but he knew he didn't want to know what they were saying – it had to be the same conversation they'd been having since he woke up, he could tell that from the raised tone his brother was using.

Bobby didn't like having Sam in the house; the first time Sam had overheard the argument Bobby had said he didn't feel safe with the newly souled man walking around when not a week before he'd tried to kill him. Dean was fulfilling his role as the protective and defensive big brother in saying that it hadn't been _Sam_ Sam, but the emotionless robotic dick who had been walking around in his skin for the past year and a half. Bobby said he knew that but it didn't change the fact that someone who looked like Sam had tried to kill him when all he'd ever done was be like a father to him. The arguments usually ended with Dean saying that they'd go somewhere else but Bobby was being a martyr and said they could say – using the most painful statement Sam heard, saying that Dean shouldn't have to leave just because Bobby didn't want Sam there. Dean shouldn't be punished for what Sam did.

That particular remark hit home with Sam too much for his liking. For his entire life Dean had sacrificed and given up things he had wanted to do or have for the sake of his younger brother coming first with his needs and wants, and every time Sam even began to think about it a crushing wave of guilt came over him. The most recent thing Dean had had to give up was the one Sam felt the worst about – his life with Lisa and Ben. It was the one thing his soulless self had done right – left Dean alone to let him have a normal life with a woman and child he cared about, giving him a family and a life that would see him past being torn apart at age 35. Dean kept telling Sam that the only thing he'd wanted while with Lisa and Ben was to have Sam alive and that he was happier with him now than he had been with them, but Sam knew that there was a part of Dean who had always ached for a normal life, even if the rest of him didn't realize it.

At that point in the argument, however, Dean would walk away, normally to find Sam, and would pretend that nothing had happened and nothing had changed.

When Bobby approached Dean with a hunt Sam had thought he would jump at the chance to go and blow off some steam, but Dean surprised him in his hesitance to take the job. It was a three-man hunt and, although he wouldn't admit it, he wasn't sure how much he trusted Bobby to watch out for Sam. He knew that Bobby would never consciously not protect Sam, but with less of an inclination things might slip by him that wouldn't have otherwise. However, when Bobby said that there was no one else to take care of it Dean realised he didn't have much of a choice and so it was with that the he and Sam were getting into the Impala and following Bobby's car to a town less than 100 miles away to find a skin walker hiding out in the woods.

…

Bobby held his gun out in front of him, Dean and Sam following behind, when he heard a rustling coming from an area within the trees beside them. Turning around and nodding towards the patch, the three split off and surrounded it from different angles. Cocking the rifle, he looked through the sight and saw something moving from the other side of the trees before him.

_Is that it?_ he thought to himself, hesitating slightly before pulling the trigger. Hunting with other people meant you always needed to be sure of where they were before shooting something that may or may not be them or the ugly of the week. Turning his head quickly Bobby saw Dean a few feet off and, making the assumption Sam would be somewhere in that area too, he took the shot. The shout of pain that followed, however, made his heart go cold as he heard Dean yelling his brother's name and running towards where whatever he had shot had gone down.

...

"Gah," Sam gasped, a hand immediately going to the blood flowing from just below his shoulder. He could feel the bullet rubbing against a rib, but knew he wasn't in enough pain or losing consciousness quickly enough for it to have hit an organ or an artery. He'd just been shot enough for it to hurt like a bitch and need it to be cleaned and stitched next pretty damn quickly.

The next thing he knew he was on the ground, shaking hand still clasped against the wound. He could hear someone yelling his name, he thought it might be Dean, but before he could be sure he decided to give in to the wave of fatigue that suddenly overcame him and closed his eyes.

…

Sam blinked his eyes open, unsurprised to find himself looking at the ceiling of Bobby's den. What did surprise him, however, was Dean sitting in a chair pulled up next to the couch, relief evident in his eyes as he looked at his little brother. The previous night then came back to Sam, and the ache in his side that was making itself more and more known as the seconds went past was explained.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said with a grin on his face, although it didn't quite reach his eyes. He immediately held out a hand with two pills in his palm, with a glass of water in the other. Handing them to Sam, the younger man downed them with the water and nodded gratefully, then winced as he felt the pull of the wound after sitting up to take the pain medication. He heard Dean take a deep breath, and braced himself for the lecture he knew was to follow.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said, looking at the floor and pulling a hand through his hair which was looking like he'd been doing a lot of that, spiking in different directions.

Sam blinked in surprise at his older brother, confused. "What are you sorry for, you didn't shoot me."

A dark look passed over Dean's face but it was gone as soon as it had come and the composed expression was back. He huffed out a breath, and continued.

"I meant I'm sorry for letting you _get_ shot, dumbass," he joked, but there was now a bitter edge to his voice. "I didn't think…I shouldn't have let us keep staying here with everything the way it was. We should've gone somewhere else-"

"He didn't shoot me on purpose, Dean," Sam interrupted quietly but firmly, knowing exactly where his older brother's train of thought was. "It was an accident, and I didn't die so we're going to count it as a win as far as Winchester accidents go."

The attempted humor was not received well by Dean, but before he could retaliate Bobby walked into the room behind him, hovering in the doorway with a look on his face that could only be described as very poorly concealed remorse with a huge amount of guilt and remorse. However, when Dean saw where Sam's gaze had gone he stood up in front of his brother on the couch and cast a glare so cold at Bobby the older hunter couldn't help but think about how it was a look he had seen the boy give John many times and being on the receiving end of it, he couldn't imagine how the other man hadn't learned his lesson in not crossing Dean when it came to Sam the first time. Bobby tried to ignore the cold green eyes and looked past Dean as well as he could to Sam.

"How're you doing, kid?" he asked gruffly, trying to keep his voice steady. The smile that came onto the youngest Winchester's face made him want to cry though – the amount of forgiveness conveyed in the single expression was more than Bobby had ever given Sam, and it was more than he would ever deserve.

"I'm okay, Bobby," Sam said earnestly, looking around Dean's hip, "thank you for asking."

And if that didn't just break Bobby's heart, as well as Dean's. Family shouldn't have to be _thanked_ for asking how you were after you got shot – after one of _them_ shot you. The fact that Sam seemed a little surprised that Bobby had even asked hardened Dean's glare even more, and without another word from any of them he was pushing Bobby out of the living room and out the front door onto the porch, shutting the door behind them.

"Dean, I-" Bobby began, but Dean didn't give him a chance to even finish the opening sentence to what he knew was an apology.

"Don't apologize," Dean said in a cold voice, "it was an accident, right? You didn't mean to put a bullet into Sam's ribcage, right?"

The insinuation hit Bobby with the force of a semi, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"You…you think I shot him on _purpose?_" he asked incredulously, unable to comprehend the suggestion.

He expected Dean to refute the possibility, acknowledge the fact that he knew Bobby would never intentionally hurt either of them, but instead he got the protective brother of the kid lying on his couch inside the house moving closer to him until he was less than a foot away.

"You've wanted him out of this house since the minute he was conscious and had his soul back. You don't like being alone with him, you keep saying you don't feel safe with him around – won't even be in the same room as him if you can avoid it." Bobby opened his mouth to interject but Dean shook his head, holding up a hand. "I know, I know, you didn't shoot him on purpose, but you think that maybe you would've been more careful in not shooting him if you hadn't still been pissed at him for something he hadn't even done?" With that, Dean turned and walked back into the house, leaving Bobby outside with his thoughts.

…

"Dean, I'm fine," Sam muttered as his brother shoved yet another glass of water towards him. The look the he received made him sigh in defeat and accept the drink, ignoring the smirk on Dean's face.

At the sound of a throat being cleared from the doorway, however, the amusement was gone from the older Winchester's face and replaced by a carefully concealed expression that Bobby knew was disapproval. He refused to be deterred, though, and held his ground.

"Dean, can I talk to Sam for a minute?" he asked in a way that showed his clear understanding of whose permission he was asking.

Dean frowned, but Sam nodded his head.

"Give us a minute, Dean?" he said quietly and Dean reluctantly got up from where he had been sat beside his brother's legs on the couch and moved toward the door, shooting Bobby a warning look before leaving.

When the porch door closed, signaling the fact that it was now just Sam and Bobby, the younger man looked at the older expectantly, and Bobby took a few steps forward before pulling the chair by his desk over to beside the couch.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby sat down and began. "Sam, I am so sorry. I shouldn't have gone yesterday with the way things were, it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt and it kills me that it was you."

Sam went to say something, but Bobby held up a hand to prevent the interruption. "Hold on, let me get this out." He dropped his gaze to the ground before lifting it again to meet the eyes holding so much forgiveness and acceptance that it almost made him want to cry, seeing the amount of faith Sam Winchester still had in everyone, determined to see the best, despite everything that had been thrown at him over the course of his life and the amount of times he had been wronged.

"After what happened before you got your soul back it was just hard to be around you, but that ain't no excuse for the way I've been treating you," he continued, "and your brother kept telling me that it wasn't you and I knew that it wasn't you but it sure as hell looked and sounded like you so it was harder to find the difference."

Taking off his worn baseball hat and running a hand over his hair before putting it back on, Bobby sighed. "You're family to me, kid, you and that idjit of a brother of yours, and I'm sorry for letting you get hurt and for not being there for you these past few weeks, and I'm sorry it took a bullet in you for me to pull my head outta my ass and try and make it right."

There was a pause after Bobby finished, but before he could take it as anything other than an acceptance of his apology, Sam smiled at him. It was weak, considering he was still making up blood loss, but it was there and damn it if it didn't bring one to Bobby's face too.

Dean stepped back into the room a few minutes later, obviously having eavesdropped although Bobby expected no less from a Winchester, but the lighter expression on his face made it clear that he approved of whatever the older hunter had said to Sam, and watching the two boys bickering light-heartedly as Dean shoved Sam's feet over on the couch so he could sit down made him remember what it had been about them that had convinced him to take them in all those years ago when they had been small children with their father. They'd all been through Hell and come out the other side and though everyone had made mistakes, most recently Bobby's, he knew that they were stuck together until the end and, you know what? That was okay with him.


End file.
